Page 2 of An Alien for the Future

“They would be even more pleased if, like the other two humans—”

“Xarion, I don’t want a man.” I don’t even glance behind me but I know he’s following.

“It doesn’t have to be a Kari mate like Eleanor Taylor and Catherine Richmond. Even a female acquaintance—”

I snort a laugh. “Experimented with that back in college, baby. Not my thing. I like cocks. I just don’t like what they’reattached to.” I think that will shut him up. It doesn’t. Surprising me, this cultured alien isn’t even mildly fazed.

“And why is that, Donna Johnson? Scientifically, you are biologically suited for a variety of male shafts—”

“Xarion!” My mouth falls open as I gape at him. I can’t believe he just said that. “Have some bluebread.” I thrust the food in his direction again, intent on ignoring the heat rising in my cheeks. “And stop calling me ‘Donna Johnson’, like I’m in trouble or something. Just call me Donna.”

“Right. Humans like when their names are butchered. I remember.” Xarion blinks at me as I huff a laugh through my nose before his gaze shifts to the bluebread still in my hands. “Grushi grain?” he asks, and I nod.

“One bite won’t kill you.” His ears twitch and I try not to laugh again. “Probably.”

With a sigh that could rival a deflating balloon, Xarion delicately picks up the slice and takes a tiny nibble. His whiskers twitch, and I swear I see his white fur pale even further.

“It’s…quite unique,” he manages, swallowing hard.

I snort. “That’s a polite way of saying it tastes like dirt.” But even knowing it, even expecting him not to like it, my shoulders sag a little. I need this recipe to work.

“Well,” Xarion says, and I don’t miss that he’s discreetly trying to wipe his tongue, “perhaps your culinary skills might improve if you were to…expand your ingredient selection. Have you considered foraging for zimi berries in the pasture across from your farm? They are often used as a sweetening and flavoring ingredient in doughy meals like these.”

My eyebrows lift, almost reaching the headscarf tied tight around my head. “What now?” My focus shifts to the pasture across from mine, even as I try to temper the little hope flaring in my chest. The pasture stretches so far, I don’t know where it starts and where it ends. “Zimi berries?”

“Quite delectable little things. Though they must be handled with protective gear lest they stain your fur.” His gaze shifts down me. “Or rather, your dark skin.”

I stare at him for a few beats before I get an idea. “Wait here.”

Picking up the long skirts flowing around me, I hurry back inside. There’s a satchel I tied together using pieces of linen, one that serves as my grocery bag, and I hurry to take it from where I’d hung it in the kitchen. About a minute later, I’m shutting the front door and turning to face Xarion. Surprisingly, he’s finished the rest of the bluebread and is looking at me with one ear high and the other folded.

I snort. “Thought you didn’t like it.”

“It could be better.”

I roll my eyes again. “Come on, you’re going to help me forage for these zimi berries.”

I march towards the pasture, my satchel swinging at my side. Getting underneath the perimeter fence takes some acrobatics my hips don’t like, but I make it. When I look behind me, Xarion is hesitating, his pristine suit a stark contrast to the wild orange grass.

“Donna Johnson—Donna, I’m not sure this is entirely necessary—”

“Oh, come on, cotton-tail.” I turn, pushing through the tall grass. “You suggested it, now you’re gonna help. Besides, aren’t you curious to see how your little human experiment is surviving out here?”

Xarion sighs, a sound I’m becoming quite familiar with, and reluctantly follows. “I assure you, the New Horizons Initiative is not an ‘experiment’. It’s a carefully planned resettlement program.”

“Uh-huh,” I grunt, still pushing through the waist-high grass. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

We trek further into the pasture, the orange grass giving way to patches of light brown shrubs. Xarion delicately picks his way through, trying (and failing) to keep his suit clean.

“You know,” he says, stepping around a bunch of shrubs with burs on them, “the other human homesteaders have been quite proactive in building a community. Because your species is so rare and both of them have turned out to be mates fated to males who thought such impossible, Eleanor Taylor and Catherine Richmond have even started a weekly gathering—”

I whirl around, nearly causing Xarion to bump into me. I know exactly what he’s doing. The same thing he’s been trying to do from the start. Get meintegrated. “Let me guess, a book club? Quilting circle? Alien crop appreciation society?”

Xarion’s whiskers twitch. “Actually, it’s a cultural exchange. Tensions are high among the Kari, so they’ve been teaching some of the males about Earthkind. Females.”

“What does that have to do with me?” I ask, turning back to forge ahead. “They have Kari mates. What they’re doing is only logical. I’m sure they’re all having a grand old time, swapping stories and braiding each other’s tentacles.”

“Kari don’t have tentacles.” Xarion says. When I glance back at him, he’s looking at me strangely before his gaze drops to my bum. “Do humans—”

---